It was a terrible position for our policeman, and he didn’t know what to do. There was nobody about, and he was helpless. Of course he might have made a dash for the revolver; but, as he said, before he could get it, it might have gone off, and then, where would he have been?
The little wretch saw his advantage, and if he didn’t say, as cool as you please, “Now then, Jones” (it was the same policeman who woke us up about our door being open, the night of the burglary at The Hall),—“now then, Jones, take off your watch and chain, and throw them on the ground.”
“I sha’n’t,” said the policeman.
“Oh, very well; then I shall have to make you. I’ll count three, and if you haven’t put them down I’ll pull the trigger.”
“One!”
Poor Jones hesitated. It was ridiculous; but he was in mortal terror of that deadly weapon in a boy’s hands. So he took off his watch and chain and put them down.
“Now, all the money you’ve got in your pockets.”
Jones had drawn his week’s pay, and had a sovereign; but he wouldn’t say so.
“I haven’t got any money,” he said.